From this kind of gaiety Martial graduates into another--that of
pleasantry. In an epitaph on his barber, he bids the earth lie light
upon him, adding, "It could not be lighter than his artistic hand." From
his censure of bad wit, it is evident that he drew great distinctions
between broad and subtle humour. "Every man," he says, "has not a
_nose_," _i.e._, a keen perception--cannot smell a fault. He is very
seldom guilty of a pun, and says in one place that he has not adopted
verbal tricks, imitating echoes, or making lines which can be read
backwards or forwards.[26] Nor has he any intention to indulge in bitter
reflections; he says,--

"My page injures not those it hates, and no reputation obtained at the
expense of another is pleasing to me. Some versifiers wish publications
which are but darts dipped in the blood of Lycambus to be mine, and
vomit forth the poison of vipers under my name. My sport is harmless."

But he well saw that some little severity was necessary for humour, for
he chides a dull poet:

"Although the epigrams which you write are always sweetness itself, and
more spotless than a white-leaded skin, and although there is in them
neither an atom of salt, nor a drop of bitter gall, yet you expect,
foolish man, that they will be read. Why, not even food is pleasant if
wholly destitute of acid seasoning, nor is a face pleasing which shows
no dimples. Give children your honey, apples, and luscious figs--the
Chian fig, which has sharpness, pleases my taste."

Following this view we find him often sarcastic, but not personal, the
names being fictitious, or if not, those of well known public men. In a
few instances he is a little ill-natured, and writes, "Laugh, if thou